Nocturnal is a voyeur
by DagmarIceBlade
Summary: Nocturnal requires two of the Nightingales to be screwing. So Karliah suggests they start right now. (Lemon, written for the Skyrimkinkmeme)


Written for the Skyrimkinkmeme, for a prompt that proposed Nocturnal required two of the Nightingales to be in a relationship.

* * *

"Very well, the conditions are acceptable. However," Nocturnal's unearthly voice reverberated in the hall, "not all conditions have yet been met."

"Lady Nocturnal, what do you require?"

"Of all people, _you _should know, Karliah."

Dagmar Ice-Blade thought that tone of voice _suggestive_, which only confirmed her suspicion that there was more to this Nightingale business than Karliah had discussed with them. What would it be, retrieving some Daedric artefact?

"We will… meet these requirements, Lady. We dedicate ourselves to you as both your avengers and your sentinels."

"Then you may proceed. I name your initiates Nightingale and I restore your status to the same, Karliah. And in the future, I'd suggest you refrain from disappointing me again."

The otherworldly mist swirled around her and her fellow thieves, and Dagmar let out a soft sigh as it sank through the Nightingale armour and into her skin. It made her tingle all over and she wondered if Karliah and Brynjolf felt it, too. Then Nocturnal disappeared, the only reminder of her presence being the slightly darker shadows that surrounded them and a vague sense of foreboding that only a Daedric prince could elicit.

"What other requirements are there?" she asked, when they met in the middle of the Hall.

The small Dunmer explained something about a Skeleton Key (an artefact indeed, how _unexpected_) and its more spiritual nature. No wonder Mercer could unlock the ancient Nordic puzzle door. She had ascribed it to a dirty secret only he had figured out… and she turned out to be right. She might find some use out of that particular item herself.

A silence filled with hesitation on Karliah's part descended on the trio. Even the mask of the Dunmer clearly regarded the doorway leading to the hall as much more interesting than looking at either Nord before her. Brynjolf had noticed it, too, and by the tilt of his head, she could tell he was suspicious.

"What else, lass?"

"Our service to Nocturnal involves something else. She watches our every step, our every action, and she influences our luck. Also that of a more… sensual… nature."

"It wouldn't be a Daedra if they didn't request something odd. Out with it, elf," Dagmar said.

Karliah tsk'ed, but let the double insult slide. "You two… aren't in a relationship, are you?"

Dagmar rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath: "Are we going to get _this_ again?" Why oh why had she kissed the man? It was just a kiss and never got beyond that, because Cynric had walked in on them. Still, rumours that she was more than a protégé to Brynjolf never really died down, despite their denial (and for some reason, Brynjolf was as adamant as she). Karliah had obviously heard the stories.

"That's a no," Brynjolf answered for them.

Karliah muttered a curse. "Nocturnal requires two of the Nightingales to be in a relationship."

When Dagmar woke up this morning, a conversation about her love life was not on her list of things to do, least of all combined with her new status as Nightingale. Granted, Brynjolf had been on her mind more than ever after that kiss.

* * *

_A particular practise session with her blade had her lean against the wall, wheezing because of the flu that only slowly subsided – damned chill._

"You really ought to take it easy, lass."

Brynjolf had been watching her, another one of those moments where he paid more than normal attention to what she was doing. A long, drawn out sigh escaped her lips. "The world doesn't wait for my flu to lift."

"Fair enough." He laid his hand on her shoulder, and looked her in the eyes. "The world is outside the Cistern, though."

She could use… something. Something comforting and tender and –

She leaned forward and kissed him, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. He grasped her face and pushed against her lips, slowly forcing her head back. Her blade fell to the floor, and her hands pulled him closer. She wanted to disappear in the feeling of his lips against hers and the taste of the mead on his lips.

"Well, I suppose I won't disturb you two," Cynric remarked dryly, taking up his bow to practise, and then the moment was gone.

* * *

Interesting how Nocturnal and she had similar interests. Perhaps she'd have him now?

"Might've been advantageous to consider that before bringing us here," Brynjolf said, his voice losing some of its smoothness.

"I assumed you two were… seeing each other already. It wasn't necessary…"

"Not necessary to tell us about this little scheme?"

Dagmar winced. The second-in-command was angry. His trust in Karliah only went so far as his lust for vengeance on Mercer.

"It's not too late to set things right," Karliah's low voice muttered.

"I thought I could have a sliver of trust in your words."

"I have not lied to you once."

"Bryn," Dagmar interceded, not wishing any permanent damage to the tentative friendship she had been hoping for between the Nord and the Dunmer. Perhaps it was too much to ask – these were lies he had spent half a lifetime believing – but she had found Karliah nothing but trustworthy. The elf had even saved her life.

Karliah wished an end to the discussion, too. "Oh, for the sake of the Guild, we don't have much time, so I suggest you _start now_. I'd like to not piss off Nocturnal and find Mercer before he's got the Eyes for himself," she said.

Dagmar nodded in silent approval.

She skittered to the corridor. "I'll just give you some space, all right?"

"I'm not done with you," Brynjolf threatened.

"That can wait."

She would… distract him. In a way she knew Nocturnal would like. "Brynjolf?" Dagmar asked, quietly.

He stood perfectly still, an air of menace over him. He didn't listen to her, his voice increasing in volume as Karliah made her way through the long hallway. "No. You lure us here in order to be thralls to – Nocturnal forgive me – a fickle Lady Luck, call us away from the Guild that has no leader left because the last one –"

"Bryn?" She walked towards the taller man.

"- _betrayed_ us. You threaten the family I have been trying to keep together, even with an untrustworthy and antagonistic jerk as Guildmaster."

Dagmar pulled his mask down, after having discarded hers. "Shut up, Bryn," she whispered, and kissed him.

Brynjolf went still, his anger interrupted by the soft and moist touch of Dagmar's lips. It mirrored their previous kiss, where she had been the initiator. It took only a moment for him to adjust to this new situation and then his hands touched the sides of her face and he kissed her back.

He growled, the low sound reverberating through her. He pulled her face closer, dissatisfied with the sweet kiss, demanding something more in line with his darkened mood. Their teeth clinked together, and when she started to retreat, his hand at the back of her head cut her off. His teeth scraped along her lips. He took her tongue between lips and teeth when she offered it to him.

Finally, he withdrew, after a soft but desperate pleading moan for air. Dagmar inhaled the damp air, feeling not refreshed, but warm and on edge.

"I want to hear you, lass, hear how much you want this."

Dagmar scanned his face, but his expression was that of calm determination. "Kiss me again, I need it."

He surrounded her with his arms, their armours quietly creaking. His lips engulfed hers with hungry demands of more of her tongue, which she readily allowed. He sucked on it hard enough to hurt, then released it and roughly explored her mouth in return, sweeping and twirling and Dagmar started to feel lightheaded from his insistence.

His finger pulled on the layered plates of her Nightingale armour. "Those come off."

"I saw some beds further back."

"You don't want it badly enough to fuck right here, right now?"

Was that a tease, or a serious question? "I'd like to fuck you comfortably," she said, a wry smile on her face.

"So you like it on your back, with me thrusting into you from above. Your wish is my command." He grinned now, a smile that came easily to him, but the anger had not yet subsided. His fingers ran across the ties and leathers that kept the armour together, throwing the first plates to the uneven stone floor.

Their way to the beds was punctuated by taking off each other's armour. Putting on the skin-tight leather was hard enough, taking it off took longer than Dagmar was willing to wait. When they had uncovered Brynjolf's torso, she let her hands roam the broad expanse. She had imagined him without clothes plenty of times, but that was nothing compared to having her hands on him. She traced lines from his shoulders to his abdomen, teased around the edge of the remaining armour, and nipped at his nipples.

They left a trail of armour pieces all along the corridor. Dagmar still wore a thin tunic – dark as the Nightingale armour - while Brynjolf had discarded his along the way. Her legs were exposed to the cool and damp air. He pushed her against a wall, picked up one leg and folded it around him.

His hands felt her stiff nipples through the tunic and pinched them. She gasped, engrossed by the feeling of his hands on her, and her hands on him.

Hidden deep within the shadows, off to the corner of her eye, she saw a vague outline of a person. For a moment, she stilled, before she recognized the form and dress as belonging to none other than Nocturnal herself. A jolt of excitement shot through her torso, and burned its way through her limbs. She pulled Brynjolf closer.

_Nocturnal watched_.

She allowed herself to be seen just for a moment, a mischievous smile flashed, and then Dagmar saw nothing anymore.

"What is it?" he asked, when noticing her where her eyes had trailed off to.

"Nocturnal is watching."

He gave a grin, then his hands clutched at her wrists, she gave a half-hearted struggle, but he pulled them up above her head. Holding them in one hand, he trailed the other along her breasts, slowly down her abdomen, further down, along her thigh. It went up again, and Dagmar couldn't prepare herself for the sudden pleasure of his hand touching her folds.

Even with the tunic still covering much of her, she felt exposed to his gaze and his hand.

"I want you on the bed, I want to see you squirm with pleasure," he whispered in her ear. A calloused finger ran along her slit, and he gave a low moan. "You like being watched? Perhaps we should try the Cistern next time, where I'll have you bent over on the desk."

Dagmar jerked one of her hands free and grinned darkly as his expression changed from one of dominant lust into a scowl. "I'm not your prize." Her free hand traced her nails along his torso, down along his navel and the line of hairs, and rested on his loincloth. He was hard already, straining against the fabric. She grabbed him and gave a rough pull.

His eyes fluttered closed, and then opened. He once again caught her wrist and pulled her hand up, pushing himself against her, pressing her into the stone, as his erection pushed insistently into her thigh.

"But you are, lass, _Dragonborn_, you are. A trophy few are worthy to have. And I intend to see the best of you." He ground himself against her. "While you are slick with sweat and you lick yourself off my fingers. While you moan because all you _want_," he growled low, "is my cock hot and burning inside you."

Brynjolf was a different lover than she had imagined. She had thought his mannerisms flirty and easy going, and as a result, his lovemaking sweet and erotically demanding. Yet here was a man who _burned_ for her. Who had kept his own lust caged and now urgently sought fulfilment now that he could have her. His lips caught her again, as he demanded access to her tongue.

Dagmar struggled against his hand, but he had a good grip on her wrists, and it took some time – time tasting of mead – before she had dragged one hand from his grasp.

"I have wanted you like _burning_, for a long time. _But_," she bit out while grasping his throat and pulling him close, "if you want me, you'll have to _prove_ yourself."

"That's what I'm best at." He caught the wrist of the hand holding his throat and pulled it away. She let it, did not push her point further than she already had, and allowed him to fold his arms around her. He nipped at her neck. "It's time for that bed."

They stumbled, in each other's arms, Dagmar's tunic thrown on the floor. They bit at each other's necks and licked it to soothe, until they reached one of the fur-lined beds on this side of the bridge.

Brynjolf pushed her back on the fur, and sat down, knees on either side of her thighs. "What is it you want." It almost didn't sound like a question, but an order given in heat of passion.

Dagmar took his hand and tugged it to her folds. His fingers instinctively flexed to stroke them, but she had a different idea, and poked his digit between her folds.

"Say it."

She glared at him. Her invitation should have been enough. "Finger me." The moment the words left her lips, she felt his finger penetrate her in approval. It set her alight, the dirty words forcing her to let go for now, and have him claim her innermost places.

Still, he would have to open her legs. It didn't take long for him to nudge at her leg, to move out of the way and allow him full access.

When nudging didn't work and only had her smile at him smugly, he pulled back his finger and grabbed both her breasts. In a fluid motion they trailed her body, the insides of her thighs and he pulled them open before she had a chance to react. Then his finger was back, and she let him, her legs wide.

He started slow, coating his fingers with her ample fluids. But then he thrust his fingers inside, first one, and then two. On every thrust, his thumb glanced her nub. She drowned in the feeling, her world existing of his fingers and the bed, of her body being used for one reason, and one reason only.

On and on, it went, until the feeling reached a plateau from which she knew she could not come. Time to turn the tables. Her eyes shot open and she caught the hand still thrusting inside her, pulled it out, sat up and looked at the quizzical expression on Brynjolf with another mischievous grin.

She tasted herself against his fingers as she licked them, smelt sex on them, her free hand reaching for his erection. She took two fingers in her mouth and sucked in line with pumping him. All the while she threw him smug glances.

Brynjolf didn't sit idly by while she pleasured him. His free hand grasped her breasts, feeling the soft curve and the hard nipples against the palm of his hand. He whispered in her ear: "You're the filthiest minx I've come across."

"That's a lie," she mumbled. "But a good one."

She intensified her work on his cock. He was so hard, so very hard, and the anticipation of feeling that deep inside her aroused her even further.

"I must have you." He pushed her back against the furs, sat between her legs and drank in her sight before lining himself up and thrusting deep within her.

Even in this, he was filled with desire and passion, and little sweetness and tenderness. Long, hard strokes, where he filled her from top to bottom of her core. His hand grasped at her breasts as he held himself up with one hand.

This was better than his hands, better than the kissing, this she had dreamed of while eavesdropping on his conversations while sleeping (or trying to) in the Cistern. Once, she'd been so horny, she hadn't cared whether her fellow thieves would see them, as long as she could have him.

And now _he had her_, and the thought sensitized her to his thrusts. Every single one elicited a response from her whole body, and she felt the delicious friction of his cock along her walls.

He picked up speed, his hands now on either side of her head, one hooked thumb on her throat insisting on keeping her where she was. Then he came, and she felt it, which gave her a jolt of releasing pressure as well.

He took her in his arms, rolling them to their sides. He remained inside her for a long while, both content with feeling each other's breaths against bare skin.

They didn't hear the shuffle at the other side of the bridge. They heard nothing but their own breathing.

"Why now?" she asked, her breathing returning to normal.

"I couldn't drag you down with me, lass."

"What?"

"I have a reputation. Both good and… perhaps bad."

She rose an eyebrow in response.

"A reputation like mine is difficult to uphold if rumours start that I'm fucking my protégés."

Dagmar grinned. "You were _worried_ about me."

"You're a special one." He dropped his voice as low, growling against her ear. "And I had you." His expression turned smug. "Did I prove myself?" as if he knew the answer already.

Dagmar glared at him, but then smiled. "You did. You can have me again."

He smiled a roguish smile.

"I'm sure Nocturnal is quite satisfied."

Anger returned to his features, Karliah's failure to mention this small detail brought back to his attention. He didn't seem sure whether to thank the Dunmer or skin her alive. "She'll have to explain herself."

"An honest mistake."

"She could be hiding more from us."

"If you hold her responsible for all this" – Dagmar's hand waving at the two of them – "then you must thank her. If it weren't for her, you wouldn't have had me."

He scowled, but then his expression softened. "I'll shout at her, and then thank her."

Satisfied that the worst of his anger had left him, Dagmar snuggled up against the broad shoulders of Brynjolf. "And then we'll kill Mercer Frey."

* * *

Karliah shuffled around the entrance to the Hall, booting branches and stones. She could be perfectly still for hours if she had to, but right now, she didn't care for it.

Brynjolf's anger had unsettled her, and she could kick herself for relying on rumours instead of fact. She _should_ have told them, especially as Nightingales, their paths would cross often in service to Nocturnal, burning bridges between them was the worst thing she could do.

A cold, heavy feeling settled in her stomach. What if they wouldn't…? Just kissing wasn't going to cut it, their Lady required more than that…

Trust, was it? Brynjolf could trust her, but could she trust Brynjolf after all those years?

She'd have to find out.

As quietly as she could – which was very quiet for a thief who had remained hidden from Skyrim's Thieves Guild for decades – she snuck back into the Hall. In the dim lighting by the braziers in Nightingale Hall, she found the two, naked, kissing and grasping at each other.

The sight was promising.

Warmth spread through her limbs of both shame and excitement. She found she was unwilling to let this happen without being witness to it. She kept watching, finally their movements and their touches becoming hurried. Brynjolf was hard, and he thrust his fingers in Dagmar, and…

Karliah realised Gallus was a very long time ago.

She snaked her fingers under the plates around her waist, feeling at the expanse between her thighs. She burned from deep within, being always watchful, frustration, vengeance, ilust/i, together made her itch for relief. She worked down the armour covering her upper legs, peeled it away, then pulled her pants down.

She felt dirty, deliciously so, as the ache only increased and all she wanted was her fingers on her sex, rubbing and feeling her most intimate of places.

Moans and groans of the couple on the other side of the bridge carried well through the Hall, and she quickened her movements with the thrusts Brynjolf gave to Dagmar. Was this what she and Gallus looked like, so many years ago? Would… she dared hardly think it, but would Mercer have watched them as she watched these two now?

She imagined being with her old lover, how he touched her, kissed her, went in and out, and her walls lit up with bliss at the memory. Her fingers continued to rub her clitoris, and she spread her legs wider. Jolts of pleasure singed through her core, fired up through her thighs and she gasped. "Fuck, oh fuck." It was so close. So close to release.

And then it came, and she came, and her muscles tightened all around her lower body, and released again, and then tightened again. She let out a moan – as soft as she could make it.

Aftershocks continued deep within as she threw a look over the rock she'd been hiding behind. They were done, too. Quickly, she redressed, and turned back to the exit, until she saw a figure in the shadows before her. The woman smiled, and Karliah's cheeks burned. Nocturnal had been watching.


End file.
